Heartsong Read Free Page A

determined to make the most of it. They had won a great victory and they were prepared to face the consequences, even if death came to live with them. Charging Elk, in spite of his youth, felt this spirit and had never been so close to his family, his people, the land. He hung on to every experience, every change of country, every night under the stars or in his father’s lodge.
    But when the weather changed, everything changed. The buffalo seemed to disappear soon after the first snowfall, the deer and elk, even the rabbits and prairie hens, grew scarce, and the winds blew bitterly and constantly. Many of the people grew sick, some died, and they became frightened of what lay ahead. When the soldiers finally caught up with Crazy Horse’s band on the Powder River that winter, the people escaped into a blizzard with few casualties but the sentiment around the meager fires now was more about coming in to the fort on the White Earth River rather thanremaining free, which amounted to running and running. But Crazy Horse refused to listen to this talk. He began to spend more time away from the camp, riding off by himself into the surrounding hills—some said he was searching for a vision that would save the people; others thought he didn’t like to be around their suffering. Charging Elk’s own father said that Crazy Horse was too stubborn to be a good leader, that he put his own pride before the welfare of the people. Still, Charging Elk and his friends vowed to follow Crazy Horse, even to death if he wanted it that way. Like most of the young ones, they idolized Crazy Horse and thought he could bring forth a miracle when spring came. He would lead them somehow to a land where there were no white people, a land filled with blackhorns and berries and good water. There would be plenty of enemy horses to be taken, many enemies to be struck.
    But that spring Crazy Horse led the weary, ragged people to Fort Robinson and Red Cloud Agency. They surrendered their horses and weapons, everything but their garments, cooking utensils, and lodges. The piece of paper that the leaders marked was dated May 6, 1877. Four months later, in the Moon of the Black Calf, Crazy Horse was killed by the soldiers with the help of some of his own people.
    Charging Elk sighed and opened his eyes. The tray and the woman were gone, but two men in suits stood at the foot of the bed, looking at him.
    â€œBonjour,” said one of them.
    â€œHello,” said the other.
    Charging Elk recognized both greetings but he said nothing.
    The one who had said hello said, “Charging Elk?”
    Charging Elk considered a moment. He knew it would be futile but he asked how long he had been in the sickhouse. Both men just exchanged glances. The one who had said hello was dressed in a bulky brown suit. He had a mustache that curled down around thecorners of his mouth. The other wore a dark neat suit. His tie was neatly knotted between the collar points.
    â€œCanyou speak English? American?” The man in the brown suit leaned closer, and said again, in a loud voice, “American? Do you speak American?”
    Charging Elk gestured toward himself with his hand. “American. Lakota.” As he thought of something else to say, he remembered how he had gotten there. “Pahuska. Buffalo Bill.” Then he remembered the Lakota who had been appointed the chief of the show Indians. He had no power over the Indians—only the white bosses did—but the wcbticuruf , the fat takers, liked him because he was very handsome and his buckskins were heavy with beadwork. Surely these men would know him. “Rocky Bear,” he said. “Big medicine. Oglala. Wild West.”
    â€œBuffalo Bill, yes. But you are Charging Elk.” The man spoke slowly and loudly.
    â€œCharging Elk. Yah.” But it was becoming clear that he would not be able to communicate with these men, even though he knew of their languages. He could do nothing but